


Three days

by kneecapthief



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Death, Gen, Red Plague (The Arcana), Sad Ending, The Lazaret (The Arcana)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24092872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kneecapthief/pseuds/kneecapthief
Summary: The apprentice's thoughts and regrets as they're sent off to the lazaret.
Kudos: 16





	Three days

I wish I hadn't been so stubborn.  
So stupid.

I should have run away with him, taken his hand when he stuck it out to me.  
We would have run away together, through desert sand, through the thick pine forests, hid away in green valleys or a glimmering oasis until the red waters cleared up and the sun shone again.

Why didn't I change my mind, even when he turned on his heel and left, alone?

Before I can get too lost in thought, a particularly rough wave throws some of us off balance. I fall over, hit the old, rotten wood of the rickety boat. At first I don't bother getting up, but someone stretches their hand out.

"Here." A voice as weak as mine manages to call out to me. I take their hand, pulling myself back up. I put my hand on the edge of the boat this time to support myself so the kind soul doesn't have to help me up again.

"Thank you," I whisper as our crimson eyes meet. She must be about my age. The wind messes up her long blonde hair. "It's nothing," she lies with a small smile on her ashen face. I return it, and look away.

My throat seems to tighten itself. I don't know if its that damned disease, or if I'm about to lose it.

The fool I am. Three days ago I was scrubbing the dried blood off the operation tables, nothing the matter with me but a stuffy nose. Now I'm here.

I look at her again, but she's staring at the dark, murky seawater. I leave her alone to her thoughts. Maybe she needs it.

Ilya and I, we worked day and night. But sometimes, when Valdemar wasn't in the dungeons, we sneaked away to the Rowdy Raven. When we were feeling brave, maybe someplace in the red market. When he told his tall tales, he made everyone from old crones to muscled brutes roar with laughter. We clinked glasses and danced on tables until the sun rose. We made each others lives less miserable.

We almost had a cure. I had my magic and my knowledge of herbs, he had his red market connections. We were unbelievably dedicated to our cause. So dedicated that we skipped meals and naps for it. We didn't even stop to think about dying. Hell, neither of us even noticed anything different about me. We were so close to finding that cure. We already had a little remedy that slowed down symptoms. 

But one night I woke up with teary eyes, thinking nothing of it. 

The night after that, I had a mild fever. I worried a bit as I tossed and turned but fell asleep soon after. I got to work again as usual the next day.

And then, the third night, roughly a few hours ago, my head felt like it was about to explode. I had violent coughing fits. Scared, I lit a candle and almost dropped it. In the mirror I saw two bright red specks.

I scrambled around to find my pen and ink, and managed to jot something down before the guards took me away. I hope they'll find my letter soon, and that they'll all be more careful than I was. I wish I could've said goodbye another way. 

Heart-wrenching sobbing, mixed with cries for salvation and coughs fill the air. It never stops. I feel dizzy and weak again. I stumble as the vessel comes to a stop. Even if I didn't have to be shipped off to the island, I don't think I would have had much time left.

At last the dreaded masked figures usher us off the boat. They're all over place. The black fabric of their clothing sways in the bitter wind that spreads the ashes all over the island.

The heat of the fires is stifling, suffocating. Beaked spectres with lit torches surround us, herd us into a corner. Rotten wood cracks underneath our shoes. 

I don't want it to be like this. I never wanted it to be like this. None of us deserve to be here. We could have had long lives worth living. Oh, what a luxury it would be to let go slowly, as if you were floating in the sky, flying away into the sunset. Smiling while you wave farewell.

But here and now, everything is a dark whirlwind, a frightening blur of blood-red and dirt. All we have are red hot flames and smoke. Tears roll down my cheeks. 

Helpless and terrified and alone, I close my ears, and then, at last, my eyes.


End file.
